Loss
by Althea Amethyst
Summary: What if Ash was a soldier in the war? Will it end badly or will they both make it through? sucky summary, and its just a oneshot. no flames please, it's my first fanfic. All human. please review!


The sound of the ancient clock overhead broke the silence, ticking louder than a metal drum. She glanced up impassively, unseeingly at the plain black and white photo as her mind wandered back to the beginning. The beginning of the end.

His perfect eyes, which changed color endlessly, still gazed at her. His booming laugh still echoed through the now empty house. She loved him, with all her heart and soul, but he left her.

"Come home soon," she'd hoarsely whispered, tears cascading freely down her face. She'd clasped him in one last embrace, drawing in the smell of tobacco and the bitter smell of pine. He'd pulled away, smiled at her ruefully, promising to come home "in one piece".

The days crawled by like years, each second lasted a day. She hung on to his every word in letters, eagerly awaiting the next. The autumn was bitterly cold, and she had waited for the announcement that said he could come home. It never came. She watched the children play in the piles of scarlet and auburn leaves, merrily, unaware that people's worlds were fragmenting.

The first jolt of reality hit her when her friend, Thea Harman, received a telegram. Her husband had died in action in France. She went to the remembrance ceremony, supporting the distraught Thea. They called Eric a hero, and buried him like a true patriot. The procession was mournful, the large crowds silently weeping for him. Ash was in the same regiment as Eric.

Winter loomed, and the snows started to fall. She engaged herself in work, cleaning the house relentlessly, cleaning it until it shined. She received a telegram, nervously opening it, afraid of bad news.

He was coming home for Christmas.

The days brightened; every day she lived she hoped in vain it was the one he would come home. She grew weary of waiting, but kept hope, softly singing Christmas carols to herself. The dark crept in.

The night grew frigid; she lit a fire, absently chewing her nails, humming to herself. A weak chuckle resonated from the doorway.

"You look the same as you did last summer," he murmured.

She whirled, a gasp caught in her throat, tears pooling rapidly in her eyes. There he stood, crutch in hand, a lopsided smile on his bruised face. His ash blond hair was matted and mud caked, but despite the difference, his eyes still sparkled with the same affection. She flung herself at him, sobbing into his unclean uniform, and he winced slightly. He'd gestured to his leg, smiling sheepishly. He had a bullet wound. Christmas passed and January dawned, bitterly, mockingly.

She wandered down the hallway aimlessly, a hollow ache in her chest. She tucked the picture in its place on the mantelpiece, and a shrill noise startled her. The doorbell.

She sighed, answering it with a fake smile and a cheery hello. Her eyes lifted up off the floor to see a uniform and her heart leaped. But the face wasn't Ash's. Her heart sped up, a dull roar in her ear. He began to apologize but Mary Lynette focused on the telegram in his hands. He kept talking, but she couldn't hear a word he was saying. He finally handed it to her, placing it in her numb hands, and then walked off. Neighbors walked past the door, confusion turning into horror at the sight of the telegram in her hands.

The sirens went off, screeching warnings, but she couldn't think. She couldn't feel. This wasn't her home. She couldn't breathe anymore. This was the endless sea of pain she had to swim. The sirens screamed louder, the sound ricocheting around the bare walls of the living room, the radio buzzed emptily in the background. She looked at the telegram again, the words slicing her into tiny fragments.

_The secretary of war desires me to express his deep regrets that your husband, Lieutenant Ash Redfern was killed in action seventeen January in Belgium._

The sirens were deafening now, and a short burst of panic screamed through her head. She couldn't move though. Her feet were rooted to the ground, as incapable of moving as a statue. A small whistle, and then the house exploded.


End file.
